Rags and Tags
by Deja and Darcie
Summary: A collection of unrelated one-shots. New chapter is "Xenobombulate" by Deja, which features Booth and Brennan doing paperwork and some good B&B fluff.
1. Damaged Goods

A/N: This is a tag to Mayhem on a Cross and is set immediately following that episode. I found myself wondering about Brennan and this is what came out. I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Bones.

~Deja

* * *

DAMAGED GOODS

Brennan found herself grow quiet as the night went on. The food was excellent and the conversation was stimulating, even though it centered around the imprecise and ill-defined field that was psychology. She smiled and nodded when appropriate, occasionally interjecting a comment when it was expected, but Booth, Wyatt and Sweets held up the majority of the conversation.

Her eyes moved to Booth as he began a humorous anecdote about criminals that demonstrated remarkably little intelligence when he had taken a turn as a beat cop in New York. She studied him cautiously, swirling her wine in the glass idly. It was hard for her to imagine him young and helpless. He was such a strong and vital alpha male. Logically she knew that a species' young were vulnerable, and primates were no exception. That was why the urge to protect the young was hardwired into human DNA. Booth's father had taken advantage of that vulnerability and had almost driven his son to the point of suicide. However, in her mind, Booth was never helpless, never vulnerable to the whims of others, never…broken, never stained with his past.

She was broken. The emotional revelations they had shared made her remember other times in her childhood, both good times with her family and upsetting times in foster care. Her family's desertion had hurt her more deeply than she cared to admit to anyone, even herself. She was such an awkward teenager, and her mother's assurances that she was just a "late bloomer" and her father's claims that she was beautiful and unique and Russ's passive attempts at protection were so fragile against the taunts and loneliness she experienced among her peers. When they left, she had no more assurances to hold on to.

Shuttled between foster families, some of which were abusive, she had nothing to cling to. Sometimes getting kicked out of a home was the best thing that could happen. She still had her pair of shoes with the list of names written on the bottom. The last name on that list, the Melners, came to mind. Mr. and Mrs. Melner were an older couple who had fostered dozens of children. As a sullen 17 year old with a rep of being "strange" and "too smart for her own good," she was unwanted. The Melners took her in with the understanding that after she aged out of the system, they would retire.

Mrs. Melner was brusque, but kindhearted. Mr. Melner followed her lead in almost everything, but was less of a disciplinarian. When they saw that her sudden growth spurt had caused her jeans and her shirt sleeves to be too short, they shocked her by taking her shopping for school clothes. Because the Melners followed a strict budget, the stores they looked at were thrift stores and salvage stores.

Brennan distinctly remembered the salvage store. She had found a pair of jeans that looked her size and had timidly held them up for Mrs. Melner's inspection. After scrutinizing the jeans and the price, she nodded towards the dressing rooms and told her to try them on. Brennan had pulled them over her hips and fastened them, looking at herself in the mirror. They looked perfect, but they felt weird, like she had them on crooked, although the mirror showed clearly that there was nothing wrong with the way she was wearing them. She walked a few steps to see if the feeling would go away, but it persisted. She walked out of the dressing room puzzled.

"Do they fit?" her foster mother asked. Brennan nodded, smoothing out the fabric of the jeans with her hands. "How do they feel?"

"They…they feel crooked," she responded hesitantly.

"That's because the material wasn't cut along the bias. The material is crooked, not the jeans. Here, put them aside and try these," she said, handing her a pair of black slacks and a long navy skirt. Brennan took them both and tried them on. They both fit, but the slacks had a light purple stain on the hem of the right leg and the skirt had a series of holes along the side. After changing back into her regular clothes, she handed Mrs. Melner the skirt and slacks, pointing out the stain and the holes.

"Temperance, these are nice clothes," Mrs. Melner explained. "If we went to a department store and bought these, they would cost more than our fifty dollar budget. But these are damaged goods. You and I, honey, we are at the bottom of the world, and when we want something good, we have to make do. I can fix some of these problems, and we can hide the others, but we do what we can with damaged goods."

Damaged goods. Brennan knew that she qualified as damaged goods. She was made of good material, should have an expensive price tag, but there were tears and stains and hidden errors that made her worth less than her original asking price. She always thought that Booth was too good for her, but with that admission, "If not for my grandfather, I would have killed myself," maybe he let her see his hidden flaws.

"Hey, Bones," Booth said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. She glared at him in annoyance.

"That was completely unnecessary, Booth," she snapped.

"You were fading on me," he said with a grin. "Wyatt and Sweets are leaving."

"I am perfectly capable to see for myself that they are leaving," she said as she got out of her seat to escort their visitors to the door. Still musing on her thoughts from before, she smiled at Sweets and he smiled back. She, Booth and Sweets had all salvaged their lives from difficult beginnings, and had made something great of themselves. Before Sweets could leave, Brennan pulled him in for an impulsive hug. It startled all the men, even though the hug was perfunctory at best. Wyatt stood in the hall, watching the interactions. As Sweets and Wyatt walked down the hallway and Booth closed the door, Brennan had a thought.

We're all damaged goods. But we can fix some problems, and hide some others. We do what we can with damaged goods. For some reason, it left her with a smile.

* * *

A/N: I'm not sure it turned out the way I wanted it to, but I did my best...I would love to hear what you think of this.


	2. Color

A/N: Here is a tag that I had on my mind to write for the BONES finale....it's short but I felt the need to write out my depression from the ending of the episode:[ It's in Booth's perspective and is set a few minutes after he wakes up.

-darcie

DISCLAIMER: I don't own BONES.

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COLOR

I rubbed my forehead with my clammy hand as I sat at in an unfamiliar bed. A bag was in the far corner catching my eye. Who's was it? My head ached and itched as I sat numbly trying to focus, trying to find my mind. My memory was like turning on a faint, fuzzy TV that was cracked. I felt so close to the truth, yet the static would fill my thoughts causing pain in both my chest and my head. There was no time. I couldn't feel the past and yet emotions would course through my veins at times, pushing me to find answers. And then she walked in. My heart went spastically into a hard thump, which I didn't know the meaning of. Who was she? I had asked her as she spoke to me. That shocked look with evident brokenness had sent a pain slashing through my chest. I could feel her pain, why? Her features held a mystery that I loved, loved? I fought with all my strength against these emotions, yet- I _wanted_ her. Wanted? The curve of her back, I wanted to touch. The frail hands that rose to her face to smear away the tears, I wanted to hold. The affection in her soft teary eyes, I wanted to understand. Her voice shook as she spoke to me and to others. I wanted to comfort her worried looks that she tried to hide. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to find my way to light, to the truth.

"Ange, I'll be fine."

"No, Bren, listen to me. I know that you are trying to be strong, but we are worried about you." I heard her sigh, I felt my fist tighten. I wanted to hold _her_.

"I'll get him to remember." I felt the hope and agony in her voice as she stressed the words. "He has to know. He has to." I felt my lips turn into a deep frown as I kept my eyes closed, fearing that I would bolt out of the bed to her. Why would I put myself through pain for her? My logic told me my responses were wrong, backwards. But my emotions flowed freely through my heart and mind, telling me she was vital to my life. I couldn't live without her. I opened my eyes as she entered the room at last. I found myself searching her face, her neck, her hips, her legs, for any sign of change. Change? I wouldn't be able to spot any change even if I did look for it. I remembered faint pictures of my past, and I knew she fit somewhere. But where? My childhood filled with despair, the cold pressure from officers, the justice I felt when I solved the crimes, but the warmth I felt when she was here didn't find a place among my pictures. Her smile was forced, I knew that automatically. My reactions surprised me, as did my automatic knowledge.

"Booth."

"Your smile-" I said softly, "is forced." I felt a wave of embarrassment as I spoke my mind. Her smile dropped a bit as I spoke. "I'm sorry. I want to know you." She nodded, searching my eyes. I tried to bring the corners of my mouth into a smile. "I feel-" I paused as she stepped up to my bed. "I feel as if I am missing the information, but my emotions react-to you." My stuttered sentence brought a wave of silence as she stared at my face.

"I called Rebecca." She didn't add an explanation to her simple statement. Rebecca. I knew who she was talking about, but didn't know the significance.

"Rebecca? I think I know who you are talking about. I'm going to ask her to marry me, I think." I said as I remembered my thoughts about our relationship, I loved her, right? Something about that thought struck a wrong note in my mind. Her face winced as if I had struck her, and then returned to a smile, a smile that wasn't forced, but in pain. Was there such a smile? I lifted my hand as if to caress her cheek. "I'm wrong aren't I?"

"Parker is coming." Her voice was barely over a whisper. "You know him right?" The name she spoke of gave me a hint of the light I was searching for.

"Of course." I smiled as I recognized the name with certainty, and then quickly dropped the smile. "He died." I heard her catch her breath as I spoke.

"He is your son Booth," she said softly with pain in each word. I frowned and then remembered a faint time of being proud. I watched the blurred memory as I held my son for the first time.

"I know," I whispered as I lifted my head. "You helped me remember." Her face was flushed as she opened her mouth to speak. She didn't though. I felt annoyance fill my mind as she kept her thoughts to herself. I felt a craving to hear her speak, for her to share with me. "Is that your bag?" She nodded.

"You asked me to stay." I blinked and then searched her eyes.

"And you did." Her eyes wandered from mine as she clasped her hands together. I lifted my hand to scratch the back of my head automatically and winced from the pain, letting out a quick soft moan.

"Don't Booth," she said softly as she took my hand in hers. In one touch. In _that_ touch, I felt the love that was missing, I felt the warmth that she gave to only me, I felt the ecstasy that she fed me everyday. I didn't know her past nor her future, but the present was clear. I knew she belonged with me. Her hand held mine in mid air as I opened my mouth. I pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed.

"You." I whispered. "You belong-" I didn't finish my thought because I couldn't express the emotions that were pulsing in my mind. I pulled her into a tight hug, ignoring the pain rushing through my weak arms. I breathed in her scent as I laid my head upon hers. Her tears soaked through the thin gown I had on. She fit perfectly into my arms as I cradled her against my chest.

"I'm sorry I can't remember, but I _know_-" I choked on my words. "I know we belong. You fill my life with color." Her sobs were soft as I pulled her from my chest. I wanted to tear that pain away from her. I put my hand on her cheek, trying to dissolve the tears, and brushed my lips against her. They fit perfectly. I felt an explosion of light. I found I didn't remember my past, but the only thing that mattered, was the most beautiful women that was in my arms, sharing my emotion.

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A/N: I hope I didn't offend anyone. Let me know what you think!


	3. Brains and Brawn

A/N: This was an older fic that I dusted off and decided to post. It's been posted in the BY, but I'd decided to add it to this collection. I always thought that Booth was a little self-conscious about his intelligence compared to Brennan's, and although the show has addressed it a little, I thought I'd address it as well. So just remember, this was written pre-Science in the Physicist.

~Deja

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Bones.

* * *

Brains and Brawn

Booth was quiet the entire ride to the diner. Not a calm quiet that set Brennan at ease and helped her think. Not even the tense quiet that was usually present after a difficult case. This quiet was full of annoyed glances from Booth that withered her words before they made it out of her mouth. She replayed the conversations that they shared that day, but was unable to find the reason he would feel animosity towards her.

The silence didn't ease when they entered the diner and settled at their corner table. Booth took the chair with his back to the wall, facing the room. The chair scraped angrily as he pulled himself up to the table. Brennan sat down with more grace and regarded her partner curiously from her seat. Being a straightforward person and disliking the mood that Booth was in, she tried to formulate the best response to his obvious hostility. She did not consider herself to be a person who was an expert in ways to diffuse tension, but she had found that being open and honest about her failings with her partner had given her some leeway to make mistakes with regards to her lack of understanding.

"Why are you angry at me, Booth?" she asked plainly. His jaw clenched tighter and he took a deep breath through his nose before answering.

"It's nothing, Bones. Just drop it," he stated, snapping his wrists forward to make his sleeves fall comfortably on his wrists. The movement pulled his jacket tightly across his shoulders and made his tension even more evident.

"Obviously it is not 'nothing,' Booth. You have been acting strange ever since we left the Jeffersonian. I would like to know the reason you are upset," she said calmly as tried to catch his gaze, "Partners share things, and as your partner, I'd like to know why you are angry."

"Yeah, well, partners also stick up for each other: defend each other to people outside their partnership," he responded bitterly, "Even if your partner is just a dumb guy from the FBI."

"I defend you, Booth," she countered in confusion. He made a jerky movement in his seat and with a sound of disbelief, he finally met her eyes.

"You didn't bother to defend me today to that hotshot doctor from the Jeffersonian. And I know you heard him because you smiled when he laughed. It's like if the guy's got a few doctorates, they can insult your partner all day and get away with it," he fumed. Finding that he was on the edge of his seat, leaning menacingly over the table, he forcefully pulled himself back and took a deep breath through his nose.

"I'm not sure what you are referring to," Brennan said, searching her memory for an incident that he could have misconstrued. She knew that if anyone, even a doctor that she worked closely with, had insulted Booth, she would have corrected their mistaken assumptions. She had even defended Booth to Angela a few times, knowing that it would cause Ange to question the professional nature of her relationship with her partner.

Booth let out his breath in a huff. "That fat doctor who stared at your chest the entire time you talked, the one that's the specialist in the icon stuff, he said that I was nothing more than FBI muscle and then laughed. And you smiled! I mean, come on, Bones. I may not be a genius with three doctorates, but I thought I was more to you than muscle from the FBI!" He slumped wearily in his chair after his outburst. Rationally Brennan knew that the biochemicals coursing through the body during what was perceived as an "emotional outburst" often led to fatigue after they were expended, but she didn't think that the lack of adrenaline in his body accounted for the look of exhaustion that replaced his anger.

After a moment of quiet reflection, she answered his outburst. "I didn't believe that you needed defending in that instance," she said softly. He looked at her with disgust and sadness. She knew that she had said the wrong thing to ease his mind and rushed to continue.

"Did you know that there are three types of muscle in the human body?" she asked. Without waiting for him to respond, she continued, "Each type of muscle has a different purpose, though they are all closely related to each other."

"I don't want a lecture from you, Bones," Booth said, smoothing a hand over his face, "I'm not in the mood."

"It's an explanation," she clarified. He made a grudging "continue" gesture and she sat up straighter in her seat. "One type of muscle is smooth muscle. It's not what is normally thought of when the term muscle is used, but it's extremely important to bodily function. It lines much of the digestive tract, for example, and controls the movement of food from one part of the digestive system to another. Smooth muscle is the essence of quiet control. You never think about the job that it does until that job is somehow hindered.

"Another type of muscle is skeletal muscle. It's the type most people refer to when they talk about muscles. The skeletal muscles, with few exceptions, are attached to bones, and when they contract, they move the skeleton. They provide movement to an otherwise stagnant system."

"Is there a point to this science lesson, Bones? Or are you just trying to be more like Mr. Nigel-Murray?" Booth interrupted in annoyance.

"Of course there's a point, Booth," she replied. "I always have a point in sharing information with you."

"Then get to it," he said.

She nodded, then leaned forward slightly as she made her point. "You, Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI, exhibit all the characteristics that I think of when I consider the muscles in the human body. You are the essence of quiet control. It is obvious in the interrogation room or at a crime scene or even when you drive. You always make sure things go as smoothly as possible, and I am so accustomed to how well you do your job that I forget until your job is somehow hindered by an outside influence. You also bring movement and change to whatever environment you are in, most notably at the Jeffersonian. You pulled me out of stagnation, brought movement to your 'Bones.'"

She smiled at the pun as she propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward. He matched her stance, placing his crossed arms on the table and leaning towards her. The annoyance had left his face completely and was replaced by a small smile and a twinkle in his brown eyes.

"You said that there were three types of muscle," he remarked. She nodded and continued.

"The last is cardiac muscle—the heart," she said gently. "Although the physical heart muscle has nothing to do with the actual processing and interpreting of biochemical pathways related to emotion, it is often used as a representation for the seat of the emotions. You have more heart than anyone I know, Booth. And you are perceptive enough to see the emotions of others where most people would miss them. I admire that about you very much, Booth, and I _do_ consider you to be the 'muscle' of our partnership."

For a long, intense moment neither partner spoke. Finally Booth broke the comfortable silence. "You know, Bones, you have a lot of muscle too," he said sincerely. His smile became a grin that was mirrored by Brennan. "Especially the part about control," he teased, "You are one of the bossiest people I know, always having to be in control of every little thing."

"I do not have to be in control of everything!" she retorted incredulously.

"Well, what about today when that poor tech carried the box of evidence up to the platform and you yelled at him because he hadn't waited for you to tell him?"

"He could've compromised the evidence!" she argued, letting her pitch climb to add emphasis to her words.

"He did exactly what you would've wanted him to," he reasoned with his cocky smirk on his face, "His only mistake was taking initiative and not allowing you to be in complete control."

They would have continued their bickering, but Vera, their regular waitress, had come to collect their orders as soon as she noticed their argument change from tense to comfortable. They ordered their usual and settled back to enjoy the coffee she brought. Booth stirred sugar into his absently as he watched Brennan doctor her coffee.

"Thanks Bones," he said quietly.

"For what?" she asked curiously, taking a sip.

"For not thinking I'm just a dumb FBI guy," he said, watching her face closely, "And for making what I thought of as an insult into a compliment. You know, you're pretty smart."

"I'm just living up to my reputation, Booth," she said cheekily. "I'm the one with the brains. You're the one with the muscles."

* * *

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed it. Rewriting this helped me take my mind off the events surrounding the finale. But I must confess, I really loved The End in the Beginning...except the fact that Jared is wearing the Cocky belt buckle. That made me really angry. Only the real Booth can wear it. Booth-lite is not allowed to wear THE belt buckle. Ugh! Anyway, tell me what you thought of this fic and the finale and season 4 in general. And how do you think season 5 will go?


	4. Dream On

A/N: This was percolating in the back of my mind for a while before I saw the "Word of the Day Challenge" in the BoneYard and tweaked it to fit the challenge.

The story line might be a little confusing, but good things happen in the end. It might take a second reading to get things all squared away in your mind. It vaguely references the episodes "Death in the Saddle" and "Mummy in the Maze."

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

* * *

Dream On

By Deja

Booth strode confidently into the Jeffersonian, loving the way everyone seemed to have a purpose around him. People in blue lab coats bustled around him, occasionally calling out greetings. The work they did here was meaningful and important, and he reveled in that fact. Swiping his card at the platform, he bounded up the steps.

"What have we got?" he asked the interns and the rest of the scientists as they carefully examined the remains.

"Male, fifty to sixty-five years old, blunt force trauma to the parietal. There are some odd markings on the right distal radius I'd like you to take a look at," Wendell said as Booth stood over the bones. Booth nodded as he slipped on his gloves.

"Good work, Wendell," he said brusquely as he pulled the magnifying light closer to the right arm.

"Hey sweetie," Angela said from where she was sitting off to the side of the platform. "I've got a face for you, and I'm running it though missing persons right now."

"Thanks, Ange," he said absently.

"We're still going out tonight, remember?" Angela said as she waltzed over to the examination table, "You need to get out of the lab. And you can invite your Special Agent Hotness to come along. She is hot, Booth, and she likes you."

"We're just partners, Ange," he responded automatically.

"Dr. B!" Hodgins called as he swiped his security card. He was carrying a folder and a jar of white powder. "I have the results on the residue we found on the bones."

"Give them to me," Booth answered, still focused on the bones.

"You're not going to like this," Hodgins warned. Booth gave him his best glare and the bug man smiled and continued, reading from the chart in the folder. "We found methylelthylorangutan on the femur."

"That's consistent with what could be found in his workplace," Booth pronounced.

"Yeah, but there was also sesquipedalian powder mixed with it."

Booth thought for a while as he examined the radius. "His mother said he worked in the library during the summer," he commented. "The powder could have been transferred then."

"No, it would have had a different ratio of powder to moisture," Hodgins countered.

"Bones!" an authoritative voice shouted across the open area of the lab.

"Don't call me Bones!" Booth yelled as an electronic beeping gave him warning that his partner was on the platform.

"You ready to question the wife?" Special Agent Temperance Brennan asked as she pulled back her jacket to rest her hand on her hip next to her weapon.

"I'm not finished with the preliminary examination, Bren," he complained. His partner smiled that enigmatic smile and pulled on his arm.

"Let's get you out of that lab coat, Bones" she said. Booth let her pull him off the platform toward his office. She dragged his lab coat down his arms and tossed him his brown leather jacket. He let her help with his jacket as he pulled off his thick black glasses that he needed for examinations and slipped them into his pocket.

"Can I drive this time, Bren?" he asked hopefully.

"Nope. Me in the driver's seat, and squints on the grandma side. That's the way it's gonna be," she quipped as they headed to the parking garage.

"Can I have a gun, then?" he asked.

"And get shot by you a second time? I don't think so, Bones…"

* * *

Booth's breath caught in his throat as he woke up in a sweat. He lay back down on his pillow and looked around his bedroom to reassure himself. His gun was on the bedside table and his belt with its cocky belt buckle hung over the dresser drawer. His badge and keys were on top of the dresser, next to a framed picture of all the squints together at the lab, including Brennan in her lab coat. His heart stopped racing quite so fast and his breathing evened out. He let himself relax, and shifted to get into a comfortable position. His movement disturbed the person next to him.

"S'wrong?" she asked sleepily, rolling towards him. Her auburn hair looked black against the white pillow and he shifted onto his side with his head propped on his elbow to look down at her. She had her eyes closed, but slowly let them blink open when he caressed her face.

"Just a bad dream," he said as he let his fingers wander over her jaw. She snuggled into his touch and made herself wake up a little more.

"Your time in the army?" she asked sympathetically. He chuckled and kissed her forehead.

"Much more traumatic. I dreamed that I was a squint and you called me 'Bones' and that I had to wear latex gloves all the time." She chuckled with him as he continued, "And I couldn't have a gun and you wouldn't let me drive. I wore a blue lab coat and thick squint glasses."

"Mmmmm…" she purred as she let her head fall onto his outstretched arm. "It's easy to see how you would extrapolate the dream from a reversal of our positions in our every day life."

"No, my scary dream was extrapolated from what you made me do last night!"

Brennan grinned, her teeth a startling contrast to the dusky shadows around her face. She leaned over slightly to see the black glasses and blue lab coat that he wore one Halloween draped across his lounge chair. "I didn't hear you complaining," she whispered as her hand crept down his chest, followed closely by her lips. "Dr. Booth…"

Booth shivered, then grinned.

Occasionally playing a squint wasn't so bad.

* * *

A/N: I hope this amused you to read as much as it amused me to write. Comments are very much appreciated.


	5. Role Playing

A/N: The idea for this one shot came out of a little conversation with SplishySplash and our opinion of Sweets. I think Sweets and Daisy are a really cute. I also think that they both have a crush on the Booth-Brennan duo. It's best if you read this fic with that idea in mind because this will make so much more sense.

~Deja

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

**Role Playing**

* * *

"Sweetie-pie!" Daisy gushed as her boyfriend came through the door. They gave each other a little peck on the lips. "I'm so glad you're home!"

"Hey Daisy," he responded with a grin. He set his briefcase down on the table and loosened his tie. Daisy flirtatiously put her hand on his shoulder and her other hand on his tie, stroking it lightly.

"I missed you, Lancelot," she said with a little pout. Sweets let his hands drop to his girlfriend's hips.

"I missed you, too, Daisy-Waisy," he responded with a childlike grin. They touched their lips lightly together and pulled back. Then they kissed deeper and longer before pulling back.

"I made dinner," Daisy whispered as they broke away. Sweets took a deep breath, smelling hamburgers and French fries.

"It smells really good," he commented, "And I'm really hungry." He was puzzled, though. Ever since she found out that Dr. Brennan was eating vegetarian, she had made all the meals they shared vegetarian as well. Lance usually had to go out to eat meat.

"Lancey, you know what I want," she said huskily, gripping the lapels of his jacket. "You promised last time we were together."

"No, Daisy," he whined, moving his hands up to her shoulders. "I didn't promise. I said I'd think about it."

"Please, Lancey-poo," she pouted. "I did what you wanted; now it's my turn to pick. Please?"

"I just think it would be too weird, is all," he argued. The hamburger made sense, now. "They're my friends, and the subjects of my book. I think it would be wrong. And I don't like it when you call me by another man's name."

Daisy turned away from him, toward the kitchen counter where two chairs were pulled up as if the counter was a bar. A plate of salad sat at one place and a burger with fries sat next to it. She pulled the blue Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab coat from the back of the chair and slipped it on, then stalked seductively back to her boyfriend as she buttoned it up from the bottom.

"I won't call you by anything other than Special Agent, then," she whispered huskily as she wrapped herself in his embrace again. She tilted her head up for a kiss and whispered, "Special Agent Lance Sweets."

"Daisy…" he began, but she interrupted.

"Doctor…" she breathed into his ear. "Dr. Tem…"

"Dr. Daisy Wick," he countered with finality. "It would just be too weird, otherwise."

"Fine," she agreed grudgingly. She pulled something out of her coat pocket and slipped it into his hand. Curiously he looked at it, then frowned at his girlfriend.

"I'm not wearing this," he said, holding it up by two fingers and looking around anxiously, like someone might be watching.

"I know you want to, Agent Sweets," she whispered. She pulled his tie off and tossed it on the table near his briefcase, then began running her hands up and down his shirt front. He held the small object in his hand and gazed at it with longing, thinking about all the ways that this was wrong. Finally he caved.

"Ok, just a sec," he said as he undid his belt and replaced his plain silver buckle with a bright red buckle with "Cocky" written in silver.

"You look good, Agent Sweets," she breathed into his ear as she traced the new belt buckle. She played with her chunky red necklace as she pulled Sweets by his new buckle to the counter. "I ordered you a burger and fries. You'll have to get your pie yourself. I find it to be too sweet and I don't like my fruit cooked."

"Of course…Bones," Lance said, playing with the buttons on her lab coat. Daisy shivered with delight as she heard the nickname and hopped backwards on to the seat. Her boyfriend stepped in between her legs. "I think you should try some. It's an experience you won't forget." Daisy pushed the 30 second button on the microwave and Sweets could see a piece of pie on a plate spinning in the oven.

"Maybe I should try some," she whispered. "If you promise I'll enjoy the experience." She started to unbutton his shirt as she licked and bit at his neck enthusiastically. His hands weren't idle, either, and soon the lab coat was unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder.

She pulled back and took a fry from his plate, feeding it to him with nimble fingers. The fry was squishy and cold, but Sweets thought it tasted wonderful, especially when Daisy let him lick the salt off her fingers. She ate a cherry tomato out of her salad, sliding her lips over the taut red skin before drawing it into her mouth. Her moans indicated that she enjoyed her food very much, and Lance concurred.

The microwave had been announcing that the pie was warmed for quite some time before Daisy withdrew it. They fed each other bites, and Sweets sucked a morsel off Daisy's lip. "Agent Sweets," Daisy moaned, clutching at the collar of his shirt as Lance's lips wandered down her neck.

"Doctor," he responded, loving the squeal she made. "Did you enjoy the pie, Doctor Wick?" he asked.

"Very much, Agent Sweets," Daisy giggled, "I have to say that pie is a very effective seduction technique."

Sweets grinned with pleasure as Daisy moved off the chair into his arms and they began to fumble with the other's clothing. As they moved down the hall to his bedroom, the doorbell rang. They stopped for a moment, but Daisy's hands began wandering again and they resumed until the doorbell rang a second time with an impatient cadence.

"You didn't invite anyone over, did you?" Sweets asked breathlessly.

"No, I was hoping we could just be a couple in love, alone with each other," she whispered as she ran her tongue in his ear. Sweets groaned as the bell rang five times in a second.

"Coming!" He yelled as he tried to put himself back in order. He was hurriedly buttoning his shirt and tucking it in when Daisy, still in her lab coat, unlocked the door.

"Sweets!" he heard Booth yell, "Don't make us wait out here any longer!"

"Oh, God," Sweets said in panic. "What do we do?"

"Open the door, silly," Daisy responded. Sweets finished buttoning his shirt and tucked the front into his pants when Daisy opened the door.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, what a surprise," Sweets said weakly. He mustered a sickly smile for them.

"Whoa! Sorry for the interruption," Booth said with a smirk as he saw the disheveled Sweets and Daisy.

"We wanted to ask if you wanted to eat dinner with us, but I can see you are occupied," Brennan said, studying the therapist and her student with bemused interest.

"Oh, well…" Sweets stammered, starting to sweat from embarrassment, "Thanks, but Daisy and I are…eating right now."

"Yeah, we can see that," Booth said. Brennan was studying the pair carefully, with a wrinkle in her brow that said that she understood what she was seeing, but not the greater implications.

"When did you get that belt buckle?" she asked in puzzlement. "I've never seen you wear it before."

Everyone looked down at Sweets' belt buckle, then they looked over at Daisy, who was still in her lab coat and chunky red necklace. Booth and Brennan looked at each other with understanding and slow dawning horror on Booth's part.

"Well, we can see you're busy," Booth said hurriedly, backing up slowly from the door, "See you later." He pulled Brennan's arm purposefully and she followed him, catching his pointed glance.

"Oh! Of course," she said to him, then turned to Sweets, "Maybe another time."

"Later, Sweets," Booth called over his shoulder, already leaving.

"Yeah," Sweets said belatedly, "I'll see you at your session." He closed the door when they were out of sight and turned back to Daisy.

"It's going to be mega awkward on Monday," he told her, wiping his hand over his face. Daisy smiled and drew him back toward the bedroom.

"But it was worth it, right…Special Agent Lance Sweets?" she asked seductively.

"Totally! Dr. Daisy Wick," he said with a smile as the bedroom door closed behind him.

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A/N: I hope I didn't offend anyone with this. I tried to keep it clean. Please tell me what you think!


	6. Wicked

Wicked

"Bones, are there such a thing as wicked stepmothers?" Parker asked as he lazed on the couch beside her one rainy summer evening. "For real, not the ones in fairy tales?" Booth watched from his kitchen table as Brennan stopped typing on her laptop to look seriously at his son. Seeing that his son was very relaxed and had not asked from fear, he didn't try to step in.

"Well, Parker, there are people in this world that do wicked things, and if a woman who was evil married a man that had children, then she could qualify as a wicked stepmother," Brennan explained carefully.

"But not all stepmothers are mean, right?" he asked, looking up at her with such trust in his eyes that Booth's heart throbbed almost painfully in his chest.

"Of course not, Parker," she said. He sighed happily and let his head fall back to her thigh. She let her hand stroke his blond hair. He had fought for a "grown up" haircut that summer and so the curly mop was gone, but everyone commented on how much he looked like his father with his new style.

"I knew it," he said in triumph.

"I'm not surprised," Brennan told him. "You're very smart."

"Jimmy from school said that stepmothers were wicked, like in Disney Movies like Snow White and Cinderella, but I said that he didn't have enough evidence to support his conclusion," Parker told her. Booth snickered at Parker's squinty tone. He had been spending a lot of time at the Jeffersonian because of his broken arm. Although Parker was disappointed that he couldn't go to the pool with his swim team on the hot summer days, he had enjoyed his makeshift science camp that the squints had cobbled together.

"It is better to have several different types of data in order to make an informed decision, rather than relying on films that promote quixotic ideals," Brennan agreed.

"What's a quick's idol?" Parker asked. Booth watched as Brennan smiled down at him.

"A quixotic ideal is a standard that is ridiculously romantic or chivalrous. For example, in your movie Cinderella, the prince displayed many attributes that are commonly seen as the quixotic ideal. And the prince utilizes methods that are quixotic, like finding the right woman by placing a shoe on her foot. The sheer number of women with the same foot size would preclude the prince from finding the correct woman by fitting her with a glass slipper. It's a ridiculous, but highly romantic idea," she explained slowly. She looked like she wanted to say more, but held herself back. Parker picked at his cast, running his fingers over the drawing that Brennan had made—a life sized drawing of the bones covered by his cast that was labeled with the correct scientific names.

"Is chivalrous what daddy wants me to be? Like opening doors for girls and stuff?"

"Yes, Parker," she said resignedly, "Your father wants you to be polite and what he terms a gentleman towards women. I think his ways are often narrow-minded and sexist, but he has a father's prerogative in raising you. But I will admit that those habits are useful in our work. I think that all people, whether male or female, should be treated with courtesy, but society dictates that women should be treated as if they are incapable of providing for themselves."

"Some girls are really sissy, though," Parker protested, "They aren't cool like you, Bones." Booth's heart swelled with pride and Brennan blushed at the praise. Parker smiled up at Brennan and snuggled back down on her lap. She began stroking his head again, the ring on her left hand winking in the light. "You would be a really cool stepmom," he proclaimed.

"Thank you," she said bemusedly. He turned back to his Nintendo, and after a moment, Brennan went back to answering emails.

Later that night after Rebecca had picked up Parker, arranging for Booth or Brennan to take him home the next day after camp, Booth came behind Brennan as she washed her face at the bathroom sink and slid his arms around her waist. She turned in his arms and let her hands circle his neck languidly. He gave her a long, slow, gentle kiss before he pulled back to rest his forehead against hers.

"I think we should tell Parker," he said softly, running his hands up and down her back.

"Mmm…I think Parker already knows," she responded, loving the way she was held. Her hand slid up the back of his neck into his hair where her blunt nails scratched little comforting circles. "He's a smart boy, and we haven't been subtle about this."

"And I think that in his own, unsubtle way, he's telling you that he would like you as a part of our family," Booth whispered, placing kisses along her jaw, to her ear, and down her neck. Brennan tilted her head to accommodate him.

"I would very much like to be a part of your family, although I wouldn't be strictly a stepmother."

"You would be a wicked cool stepmother, though," Booth said with a grin.

"I've heard Sweets use the phrase "wicked cool" and I admit that I'm still confused by it," Brennan said, tiring of her hands running over his shirt and slipping her hands under his tee-shirt and over the bare skin of his chest. Booth's breathing became more ragged as her hands began to roam.

"Well, it's a phrase that emphasizes whatever you're talking about. You know, like something could be wicked gross or wicked cool or wicked…I don't know. Maybe we'll ask Sweets. He's still a kid, so he would know."

"So, technically, I could be a 'wicked stepmother' and still be 'cool'?" she asked in confusion, wrinkling her nose in a way that made Booth smile and ache with longing.

"Yeah, I guess so, Bones," he whispered huskily. "But you know what else is wicked cool?" She shook her head and raised her arms for Booth pull off her shirt. He tossed it somewhere on the bathroom floor as he backed into his bedroom.

"Breaking the laws of physics," he answered, pulling her down to his bed.


	7. Living Up To Your Name

A/N: Another fic that's already been posted in the BoneYard that is now posted here for your viewing pleasure. This is mostly a friendship fic, but it has some B&B if you look closely. This fic takes place sometime after the episode _Beaver in the Otter_. I hope you enjoy this! ~Deja

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.

* * *

**Living Up To Your Name**

"Oh, my God, Bren!" Angela laughed gleefully, "You really left the Founding Father's without paying?"

"Yeah," Brennan said, taking another sip of her drink. They were lounging on Angela's couch in her studio for a girls' night that Angela insisted they needed while Booth was out of town. "Booth talked me into it," she said around her smile.

"I would have loved to see that," Angela mused. "I didn't think Booth had it in him." They both finally had a buzz from the drinks they'd had and Angela knew that it was the perfect time to get Brennan to open up with a few subtle, well placed questions.

"I was quite shocked that Booth would suggest doing something like that. He's very honorable, and I wouldn't have thought he'd've approved of…oh, I think I remember what he called it…yeah, dining and dashing," she told Angela.

"And you've never done that before?" Angela asked, taking a spoonful of ice cream from her pint. Brennan shook her head as she stretched out and let her body relax into the cushions. "Not even in college?" she asked in amazement.

"No, I never had a desire to purposefully engage in wrongful acts, so I avoided parties and Greek life in general. The fraternities and sororities would engage in acrasia, but I always abstained," she said quietly, looking down into her cup.

"You know, you need to use words that I can understand when I'm drunk, sweetie. The word "acrasia" rings a bell, but I don't know what it means."

"Acrasia is a lack of self control. It was also the name of a character in Spencer's Faerie Queen, which is the most likely reason why it sounds familiar to you."

"Oh, God. I had to read that in college! It was the worst book ever, but I do remember her. She could turn men into pigs, right?"

"Yeah," Brennan said softly, tracing the rim of her cup with one finger. Angela knew that her friend often had trouble talking about herself and about her past, but she never hesitated to explain what she knew. Brennan hadn't gone in depth about how Spencer's epic poetry was a manifestation of the political and religious issues of the day, or even an anthropological significance of the book. Angela knew that something else was on her mind.

"You're being pretty quiet, Bren," she said, pushing her ice cream toward her friend. Brennan took a spoonful, but toyed with it for a while before placing it in her mouth.

"I was thinking about something Sweets said at our last session," she finally responded. Angela waited for her to elaborate, but when nothing else was forthcoming, she tried to move things along.

"Which was?" she asked. Honestly, getting Bren to talk was like pulling teeth.

"He was talking about the etymology of names, and he used the phrase "_Nomen est omen_," which is a Latin phrase that means that the name fits the object or person."

"So you and Booth talked about your names?" Angela asked, curious about the famous "couples therapy" sessions with Sweets that she had heard so much, and yet so little, about over the years.

"I put very little credence into the theory that the name of a person somehow controls the person's destiny. It is ridiculous! A name is just a name. It has no power over your life. Each person makes their own choices and must abide by them. There is not a cosmic force that can determine your fate solely based on the name your parents gave you," she ranted, her frown becoming more and more pronounced as she continued. Angela let her rant, knowing that it was good that her thoughts be shared, although she knew that Bren wasn't saying what was really bothering her.

Angela thought about the phrase Sweets had used. She and Bren shared the fact that they had had two names in their life. In Bren's case, she had been Joy Keenan and Temperance Brennan, both names chosen by her parents. Angela had chosen the name she bore now and tried not to let her birth name influence who she was. However, the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that there was something to the Latin phrase. Suddenly, Bren spoke again.

"If I had kept the name Joy…" she said brokenly. Pulling herself back together, she straightened, as if her stiff posture could keep her pain away. "I have always acted with moderation, with Temperance," she stated quietly. "If I had been named Acrasia, which is the opposite of Temperance, would I have been wild and unruly?"

"You can't know, Bren," Angela comforted. But in her heart, she wondered if it was true. And she knew that she had to tell her friend her thoughts, "I changed my name when I was 18."

Brennan looked at her with interest and confusion. "I didn't know that," she said in surprise. Angela smiled painfully and nodded.

"My mother named me Pixie. Pixie Fae Gibbons. I hated the name, but I couldn't do anything about it. I always wondered if my name determined my nature. I'm flighty and mischievous and impulsive, just like the pixies in the stories. I follow my emotions, not my reason. Maybe that name fits me better than the one I chose for myself," she said bitterly, choking on her ice cream. Brennan scooted over to touch her arm.

"I think that the name Angela suits you better," she said reassuringly.

"You don't even believe in this stuff, sweetie," Angela admonished.

"I don't have to believe in it to see that Angela is a better name for you than Pixie. 'Angela' means 'a messenger' and as an artist, isn't it your goal to convey a message through a medium to your audience?" Brennan claimed persuasively. "You are also very good at interpreting and conveying things that I need to know, Angela, especially when it comes to emotions. That seems to be the work of an angel, rather than the work of a pixie." Angela smiled brightly and drew her friend into a hug.

"You know I love you, don't you sweetie? You're the best friend I could ask for," she said. Brennan smiled shyly, pleased at her comment.

"You're a good friend to me as well," Brennan admitted.

"Bren, you know that you're a Joy to us all, don't you?" Angela asked. "Especially to Booth. He really lights up when you're around."

"He makes me feel Joyful," she confessed in a whisper. Angela held back a loud yell or a victory dance and settled on a wide smile.

"Did you discuss what his name means?" she asked, her excitement at Brennan's acknowledgement of how Booth made her feel pushing away her lingering insecurities over her birth name.

"Seeley means 'very happy' or 'blessed,'" Bren stated with a dreamy smile of her own, "And I feel very blessed to have him in my life."

The only thing that Angela lamented now was that she didn't have anything to record this historic moment.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! Tell me what you think.

I wanted to give a big thank you to all my reviewers. Reviews make my day, and I try to let everyone who reviews know how much it means to me. So for the anonymous reviewers that I can't thank personally, this is a shout out to you. I love you guys!


	8. Xenobombulate

A/N: Written for the Word Challenge in the BoneYard. This is set sometime after the season 4 finale. Xenobombulate means to malinger, or pretend illness to avoid duty or work. Enjoy! ~Deja

Disclaimer: I do not own BONES.

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**Xenobombulate**

Booth flexed his aching wrist and groaned at the sheer volume of files that he and his partner had yet to go through. They had been working for two straight hours on the paperwork that had piled up during his hospitalization and convalescence after his surgery, but it didn't seem to put a dent in the boxes of files. Brennan looked up at his noise of pain, a worried look in her eyes.

"Do you need me to get something, Booth?" she asked. He smiled at her, noticing that her pile of finished work was almost twice as tall as his was, even though she had insisted on cleaning up after the dinner that she had made for him while he started the paperwork.

"No, thanks, Bones," he said with a smile, dropping his head back to his work. A few moments later, he sighed heavily.

"You sure you don't need anything?" Brennan asked, half out of her seat, ready to get something for him.

Booth thought for a moment about how eager his partner was to help him, and how it always made him feel better when Brennan let him help her. Maybe he could return the favor and make them both feel better.

"You know, I've been carrying a lot of tension in my neck, and I think it's giving me a headache," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck theatrically.

"Do you think it would help if I rubbed your neck?" she asked kindly. He tried to hide his smile, knowing that it was less the tension in his neck that was giving him the headache and more the hole that they drilled in the back of his head. But he had decided that any excuse to have his partner touch him was good enough for him.

"It might," he replied. His gorgeous partner jumped out of her chair and circled the table, standing behind him and placing her warm hands on his neck. It was all he could do to breathe for a few minutes as she smoothed her hand down his neck and across his shoulders.

"It might help if you took your shirt off," Brennan observed as her hand bumped over the collar of his tee-shirt.

"Whatever you say," Booth said in a breathy tone. He pulled his shirt over his head, with Brennan helping. He tried his best to breathe normally as her hands rested lightly on his shoulders. When her hands began to move, testing the skin and muscles of his neck and shoulders, he closed his eyes and struggled to remember to breathe. All thoughts of any headache, real or imaginary, were forgotten, as were any thoughts of work.

"Does that help?" she asked. Booth noticed that her voice wasn't as steady as her words suggested. Her hands were working wonders on his shoulders and upper back, but they had also wandered onto his chest as well. From there it was easy for Booth to turn his head and let his cheek rest lightly on Brennan's arm. Brennan stilled, then let one hand trail up Booth's chest and neck to cup his cheek. He kissed the center of her palm and felt her shiver and suck in a deep breath.

"It's perfect," he whispered. Her hand on his chest rested right over the scar from Pam Nunan's gunshot and she caressed it lightly.

"We need to get back to work," she said, pulling her hands away. The loss of her hands on him felt a lot like pain, but he understood the necessity of not getting too close. She crossed over to her side of the table, trying her best not to look at his bare chest, and sat down to get some work done.

Thirty minutes later, Brennan had finished her first box of papers and began working on the second. Booth still lagged behind as he watched her hands move across the paper and play with her hair. He would quickly look back to his notes when she asked a question or commented on his lack of progress, but otherwise he just watched his partner.

"Booth, you haven't moved from that paragraph in the last five minutes," Brennan chastised. Booth put his hand to his head again.

"The headache's come back, Bones," he whined. "Maybe you can use your magic fingers to make it go away."

Brennan scrutinized him carefully as he gave her his best puppy dog eyes. He was debating whether or not a charm smile would make him look more or less vulnerable when she got up a second time and came to stand behind him.

"I would accuse you of malingering, Booth, but I know that you're not the type to xenobombulate," she said as her hands touched his shoulders again.

"That sounds like the worst kind of sin, Bones. I'd never deceive you," he groaned as she worked her magic on him.

"Then tell me this, and please answer truthfully and straightforwardly," she said as her hands smoothed over his chest, leaving trails of fire where they had touched. "Do you really have a headache?"

"Only when I try to read my handwriting," he admitted. She dug her thumbs into the corded muscles running down his neck and he groaned in pleasure.

"Are you trying to increase the amount of time that we spend in physical contact as a way to strengthen our partnership?" she asked seriously. He didn't know how to answer, and could barely form a thought that didn't revolve around them in his bedroom.

"I…uh…" he stammered, then moaned as her fingers drifted into his short hair at the back of his head, avoiding the area where he had had surgery. "…uh, yeah, I suppose that's part of the reason."

"Is this a way to tell me that you want to try a different aspect of our partnership?" she whispered into his ear. Her warm breath over his ear and the smell of the mint chocolate she had eaten for dessert made his head spin.

"What kind of aspect?" he asked, hoping with all his heart that she was talking about the same thing he was thinking.

"A sexual relationship that is exclusive and permanent," she said as she maneuvered until she was sitting on his lap. He let his arms wrap loosely around her, as if she would suffocate if he held her too tight.

"That would make me a very happy, very lucky man if I could have that with you, Bones," he said passionately. Her smile was wide and beautiful.

"That would make me very happy as well, Booth," she whispered before his lips touched hers. They kissed with the same passion that they brought to every aspect of their partnership. After a while, Booth stood up with his partner—now his partner in everything—in his arms. He carried her to the bedroom where four years of passions and frustrations were laid bare and a new partnership was begun.

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A/N: I hope you liked this little story. Please tell me what you thought.


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